


One Day in Sodom

by Anonymous



Category: John5 - Fandom, Marilyn Manson (Band), Nine Inch Nails (Band)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Cock Slapping, Dom/sub, Dominance, Fingerfucking, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Impact Play, M/M, Nipple Clamps, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn With Plot, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Shibari, Shower Sex, Submission, Verbal Humiliation, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 17,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21593998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Brian is a notable dom on a prominent porn site who meets a budding star. Needless to say, he teaches him a thing or two.(DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the people depicted. The personalities portrayed do not portray actual personalities. It is simply a character formed from an inspiration in reality, however reality is not a key ingredient to these stories. All rights reserved to the stories as the stories are mine.)
Relationships: John 5/Marilyn Manson, John 5/Trent Reznor, Marilyn Manson/Trent Reznor
Comments: 54
Kudos: 68
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story took me three months to finish, and I've enjoyed every second of it. And I hope you do too!  
> You know the drill. Don't like? Don't read!  
> I've placed my disclaimer in the summary and do not own anything except the stories I create. Those are mine.  
> Give me some love if you enjoyed and I can't wait to read your comments and see your kudos!

The alarm went off five minutes after he woke up, and Brian sighed heavily, staring at his phone screen for a good full minute and then closing the app. He always did this, and it gave the impression that he lost five more precious minutes of sweet, sweet, sleep, but this was routine for him. It gave him an early start to breathe and adjust before moving forward with what the day had in store for him. Just the usual typically. Get up, eat breakfast, go to work, sometimes catch a flight, eat some more, do a scene, come home, jerk off, go to bed. Sometimes it did not always include a flight that left him strained and exhausted for the rest of the day thankfully. But the company paid for it. That at least helped to calm some of the nerves.

Alighting from the bed, Brian drew back the shades and overlooked the expanse of the budding horizon. It was still dark which meant a cold and uncomfortable ride to the airport, and Brian, breathing another resigned sigh, pulled down the blinds and began to undress. In his sleepiness, Brian set the shower to run hot and didn’t get out for another thirty minutes. The soothing steam made him long to rest his eyes for just a few more minutes, but he reluctantly stepped out to finish his morning routine. Wouldn’t look good to be late.

Shouldering his back pack, Brian locked his apartment, said good morning to the sweet old woman who opened door every morning to greet him and wish him luck, and then made his way downstairs. He did not think she would continue to interact with him if she knew what he did for a living, but he figured it was better to leave things in the dark for the sake of pleasantries.

The car was there waiting just like he expected, and finally a smile broke out over his thin, pale face.

“I sure am lucky to have such a cute Uber driver,” he gushed, sliding into the warm seat and buckling in.

“Shut up,” John shot back but smiled playfully, contently when he leaned forward for a kiss. He took a moment to look at Brian before speeding away and remarked, “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Brian laughed dryly, smacking his boyfriend upside the head. He sobered quickly and muttered, leaning against the window, “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“You’re telling me. I feel like the job is getting to you.”

“I like it!” Brian defended. “I suppose it’s been just… bland.”

“Bland?” John inquired then joked, “Looking for a new flavor?”

Brian shrugged.

“Those big slices of beef not satisfying your taste?”

“It’s a job,” Brian reminded him after snorting in amusement. “I still couldn’t believe it when Sebastian told me he wanted to start hearing my ideas for scenes. Pure heaven doing what I want to do, but when I can’t do who I want to do, it sort of defeats the purpose.”

John hummed in agreement, eyes on the road.

“And big, muscly sweaty subs are not my type.”

“I’ll say,” John piped up.

“Especially if they have too much hair. I don’t mind hair, just not too much.” Brian wrinkled his nose.

“Noted,” John giggled.

“They’re not even _goth_ ,” came another sigh out of Brian and John abruptly laughed outright. “Any tattoos they do have make it seem like they’re trying too hard to be considered edgy.”

“No man can withstand getting sleeves like mine,” John commented proudly, and Brian smiled in affirmation. It was true. John could withstand many needles pricking his skin enough to draw blood. He was a masochist in more ways than one.

At one point during the ride, John reached over and gently placed his hand on Brian’s knee. Brian felt a rush of calm and relief wash over him at the loving gesture and engulfed John’s tiny hand with his own. John just knew how to calm him down before a flight. The only thing that made it more difficult was having to say goodbye to that angelic face for the day.

In no time at all, John dropped him off with one last kiss and Brian was left to his own thoughts and devices.

It was no secret that the two of them had an open relationship. Part of the reason why he still did what he did professionally was because John was more than simply “cool with it”. He understood all aspects of the industry and knew that in this line of work, Brian would be meeting people. He knew he was responsible, and Brian also recognized John’s needs in the relationship. They fit together like two sides of the same coin.

John was on Brian’s mind for most of the flight in until he arrived and the big brick building came into view from just outside his car window. Time to work.

This time he didn’t have to clean out. The scene was different and something he relished especially when he could ram his fucking cock in some bound sub just begging to let him come. There was just one thing missing, Brian sighed to himself as he dropped his pants, grabbed his crop, and stepped into character.


	2. Chapter 2

“I finally have a job tomorrow,” Trent gushed, taking a sip of his beer. As soon as he said it, he could feel himself getting redder and redder by the minute over the rim of his glass. It was a job, an actual job, and as much as he’s worked hard to get to where he needed to be, it still seemed silly to say it out loud.

John laughed _out loud_ in the middle of the bar, a short, musical laugh, two octaves higher than his normal voice, and Trent almost shushed him, feeling the heat rise. Gracefully, as the laugh came and went in seconds, John reclined in his chair with a knowing smile.

“Really?” he inquired, the smile evident in his voice as well.

“You make it sound like I’m hiding a dead body and you’re an accomplice to murder,” Trent mumbled.

John instantly sobered though his eyes twinkled. “No I’m proud of you, kitten,” he cooed in that soft voice of his. “You should see your face though when you say it. You should be proud of yourself too. Finally among the greats. I’ll jack off to you taking it up the butt later.”

In response, Trent flipped him off with a grin to which John returned the gesture by blowing him a kiss.

Trent gulped down his beer and looked thoughtful for a minute. “The guy who runs the whole scene told me to come early. I haven’t met the dom yet. All he said was he would most likely be my type, has a bunch of tattoos, tall, dark, and mysterious-”

“You don’t have any tattoos!”

Trent waved his hand dismissively at John’s interruption. “Whatever the case, I hope he’s the one I’m thinking of,” he murmured softly, and there was that far off look in his eyes again. John cocked his head, cheek resting in the palm of his hand. A thought crossed his mind and then Brian appeared in his brain, desperate for a change of scenery. And in walks Trent, the most masochistic man John ever knew, eager to lose control, eager to serve. Seemed like a match made in heaven.

Brian woke up ten minutes late than his usual routine. His alarm hadn’t gone off. It was going to be one of those fucking days, wasn’t it?

Regardless, Brian knew this was not the time to have a breakdown, slack off, anything to make him look unprofessional. He took an extra fifteen minutes longer in the shower just to look as presentable as he could. Maybe if he tried extra hard this time, some sort of higher power would make coming to work worth it. Dabbing some cologne on his neck and running a hand through his long hair, Brian shouldered his pack and locked the door behind him on the way out.

John was quieter than usual on the ride in but Brian caught a hint of a smile on his face, so he doubted he had anything on his mind that was of the utmost importance to tell him. Brian decided to ignore it, squeezed his hand once and spent the rest of the ride gazing out the window.

One of the directors spent the rest of his time before the scene once he arrived briefing him on what exactly he would be doing. Interesting enough, Brian thought. The scene would begin with the sub tied to a chair in what would appear as an underground warehouse, blindfolded and gagged enduring a severe method of interrogation. Eventually, Brian as the dom would realize that enjoyed getting smacked around and called humiliating names, which leads to a full on scene of bondage, whipping, spanking, orgasm denial, the works. Brian listened as eagerly as he could, but for the same reason he explained to John a few weeks ago, he felt apprehensive.

He remained so once he sat down to adjust and relax before the scene began. A few small dogs frolicked on the couches with him but it did not do much in regards to keeping him grounded. Plus he was definitely a cat person.

Brian sat there twiddling his thumbs, watching them play and willing this day to be over already, when he suddenly heard an unfamiliar voice. It was tenor in pitch, thick and a little nasally, with a hint of sweetness as it cooed at the dogs.

“You’re a cute one, aren’t you?” came the voice, sweet and syrupy like honey, rough like vinegar. Then Brian looked up. And his day just got a little better.

Holding one of the pups and letting it lick his lovely face was the most beautiful man Brian had ever seen in his life. Beneath a thick mop of wild, shoulder-length, black hair was a pale face and two large green eyes, as green as a dark forest after a storm. Beneath that was an elegant nose, hooked only slightly above full lips. Brian thought his nose was probably the most prominent feature on his face, and he silently adored every inch of him while his attention remained on the animal in his arms.

When the man finally acknowledged him, he gently sat down the dog, stuffed one hand in his pocket, and offered the other outstretched to Brian. “Hi, you must be Brian? I’m Trent. I guess you and I are doing the scene together.” He blushed furiously, eyes quickly giving Brian an up and down until he eventually rose to his feet and took Trent’s hand in his, towering over him significantly. Brian swore he saw him gulp, and then those lovely eyes met his, looking just the slightest bit nervous.

“Yeah, I’m Brian,” he finally uttered, shaking Trent’s hand with both, one clasped, the other resting on top. It did not seem like he wanted to let him go; the hand he held was soft, not as small as John’s, but fine with long, callused fingers. Perhaps he was a musician in his spare time. One thing was for certain, Trent was now perhaps not as innocent if his resume led him here, but certainly innocent enough to the ways of this porn industry. “Pleasure,” Brian said in greeting.

Yes.

It will certainly be a _pleasure_ making you come, he thought as he released Trent’s hand and they settled on the couches.

Over and over and over again.


	3. Chapter 3

Trent was enamored of Brian. Every time the man opened his mouth to speak, he felt his skin crawl in the best possible way. Brian’s voice was low, gravelly, droning like a distant roll of thunder, and Trent thought it suited him. He found he hung off of every word that left those full painted lips; he was utterly captivated by him.

It seemed he thought equally of him as well. When Trent addressed him, he watched as his dark eyes almost lit up at the sound of his voice, and a pleasant smile broke across his face. The interview was entertaining enough.

“You want to look into the camera and tell everyone your name then?” Brian grinned good-naturedly at Trent who blushed instantly at being addressed. When he turned to the first camera man, he smiled shyly and gave a little wave before shifting a little restlessly and returning to twiddling his thumbs.

He gave it and even his own fucking name was perfect.

“Welcome, Trent.”

“Thank you,” Trent responded with a soft voice and a slight nod. If he was trying to be submissive just now, Brian definitely noticed and wanted to scream from the mountaintops just how cute he thought this man was. Polite. Very fucking polite. _Good_ boy.

“Describe to me what your line of work involved in regards to the porn industry.”

Trent’s gaze rode upward, looking deep in thought, something else that made Brian think he looked absolutely adorable. “I’ve been…” Trent hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin with one finger and then crossed his legs in the chair, criss-cross. “I’ve been involved in the porn industry for about two years now, and before this, it has been some pretty low budget scenes, but, well…” He shrugged casually with a half-smile. “We made do.”

“And look at you now! Joining us here.”

“Happy to be here.” Trent smiled widely this time and gave a small laugh.

“Well, we’re happy to have you! So indulge me for a bit here. What exactly is it that they had you do during scenes? More specifically, what’s your specialty?” Brian’s voice droned with every breath he took and Trent found it almost difficult to hear exactly what he was saying to him rather than just simply the captivating inflections of his tone.

“Bondage and submission mostly,” Trent replied after a moment. “I almost took a job at Insex just for the experiment of it all but decided not to try it afterwards. Not saying that this is tamer but…” Trent’s voice drifted off with a smile. This was getting to the heart of how exactly he would be handled today, and he could not help but feel the heat rise to his face once more. “Most of the time, my job would have me get tied up for a bunch of men obviously larger than myself-”

“Noticed you’re quite small, huh?” Brian felt himself get hard. Size. This was a huge kink for him, the ability to play with a man regarding his stature.

“Yeah…” Trent stammered with a sort of anxious laugh. “Most jobs really enjoyed that about me along with the fact that I’m a total masochist.” He giggled, throwing up his hands to emphasize that this was a major part of his repertoire.

“So you enjoy being kicked around a bit?”

Trent nodded slightly. “More so in terms of humiliation really, but if I can feel vulnerable, under someone’s control, content to serve, then I suppose that is my specialty.”

“So you’re not gonna brat around with me then?” Brian teased.

“Oh, I can be a brat if you want me to be,” Trent replied back playfully with a more comfortable-sounding laugh. “The heavier the punishment, the better.”

“’Atta boy!”

Once again, Trent found himself blushing.

Brian decided to ignore it (as best as he could) this time and moved on to the business side of things. “Now that I know what you like, I wanna hear about what you tend to avoid in terms of certain scenes. What are your soft limits, hard limits- what is just a hardcore _no_ for you? The main thing we honor here is complete and total consent during scenes. Of course if there are certain things that you just do not like that I am doing to you, we always have a safe word and follow the traffic light system: green for doing good, yellow for okay verging on discomfort, and red for stop.”

Trent could not deny to himself that this all seemed rather overwhelming, but he knew that these were the procedures needed to establish the negotiation, to make sure that safety would be followed. This was legitimate, but still, a shiver of anticipation and anxiousness swelled inside him; Trent felt the butterflies’ wings thud in the pit of his gut.

“I am not particularly fond of being called names in reference to animals,” he said, speaking a little more clearly.

“Like pig or dog?”

Trent nodded immediately. “Yeah don’t call me that. Instant red.”

“What about slut or whore? What about that? If I called you my little bitch?”

“Oh, anything degrading like that,” Trent felt himself squirm and made the a-okay sigh with his fingers. “I’ll be a drooling mess.”

Brian laughed outright. Despite how shy Trent appeared, he managed to say exactly what was on his mind. It was more than cute hearing these things come out of his mouth. Perhaps he was entirely shameless.

“Well, then this should be fun.” Brian’s growling voice returned, giving Trent even more shivers. “Any soft limits you’d like to express that you would try just to test your boundaries?”

Again Trent seemed deep in thought, and it made Brian wonder just how much he could withstand. Probably a lot and he could not wait to explore that, unwrap Trent’s sick fantasies, and work him until he was begging at his feet. “I’ve never had anyone spit in my face or spit on me, so I’m not entirely sure how I would react,” he finally said thoughtfully. “Haven’t really tried latex either.”

“There’s always a first time for anything.” Suddenly Brian felt himself grow anxious as he knew the scene would start very soon. “All right, Trent. What I’m going to explain next is essentially how the scene will go. I’ll tie you up, smack you around a little, start off pretty rough. I’ll tease you, work you up with a few sex toys and gear, gag you, humiliate you, call you names. I’ll test your limits and get you into some positions, make you work for it and then I’ll continue to beat you, tease you, deny you. Occasionally we’ll stop between scenes to check up on you, see how you’re doing so far, and then get right back into it. Everything sounding good so far?”

Trent nodded through his explanation and gave one final nod once he’d finished, with a small smile. Everything actually sounded pretty _vague,_ he realized and his anxiety rose pondering over what exactly Brian would do to him. He was more than excited, but Brian had gone through it all so fast, it certainly seemed _tame_ , but Trent knew better than to assume the least of things.

“Why don’t you face the camera and say goodbye to everyone before we begin,” Brian chuckled lightly and Trent reddened but smiled with a small wave at the thousands of people that would eventually be watching him.

Trent adjusted the collar of his button down shirt and his rolled up sleeves and then took his hands and ran them through his untamed hair. Brian watched him out of the corner of his eye, somewhat mesmerized with the way he shook his hair. It made him long to run his own hands through it, give it a good yank. Soon enough.

“I didn’t mention before,” Trent gushed, turning to him eagerly, “but I’ve watched your scenes religiously. It was sort of inspiring for me to start in the business.” Brian must have looked at him like he had fire on the top of his head because he quickly recovered with, “Sorry, I hope that doesn’t sound too weird.”

Brian shook his head, bringing himself back to the present and responded assuredly, “No, you’re completely fine. That’s very flattering, thank you.” Say something else, you fucking weirdo, he instantly chastised himself. The man just told you he loves your porn. Before he could say anything else however, Trent flashed him a sweet, closed-mouth smile before walking off.

Perhaps if you didn’t just stand there wondering what he’d look like cleaning out, Brian mentally kicked himself, then you wouldn’t have looked so intimidating to him.

Save _that_ for later.


	4. Chapter 4

Trent sits in the middle of the room in an old, rickety wooden chair, hands bound securely and firmly behind it. His arms are over the high rungs of the chair, elbows raised making this a much more compromising position than normal. The rope that connects to his wrists and arms connects to a lower rung, making any chance of escape uncomfortable for him and clearly impossible.

He’s blindfolded as the only thing he sees is darkness. Just the faint outline of the light swinging from the ceiling is barely visible. Desperately he begins to struggle, pulling at the ropes that keep him held back and curses once under his breath.

“You must have thought you’re pretty smart, huh?” comes a taunting, low, male voice from the other end of the room. “Thought you could escape, get yourself out of this one. But then you realized that all resistance is futile, didn’t you?” Trent hears footsteps, heavy, threatening, clunking down on the cement floor and then that voice is right next to him, hot breath in his ear making him shudder. “You’re not going anywhere. Not this time.”

“Who are you?” Trent says through grit teeth. The smell of this man’s musky cologne floods his nose and more shivers run up and down his spine. It is more than intoxicating.

A gloved hand rakes through his hair, yanks harshly in a good handful, pulling his head back. “You only get to call me Mr. Manson, and it’ll be the only thing you scream when you beg for my mercy,” the man’s voice growls.

Trent grows silent, aware completely of the current situation, but as soon as it happened, the hand in his hair lets go and abruptly strikes him across the face. The harsh sting on his cheek is enough to make him realize that he’s been hit, and Trent’s head turns to the side as he gasps, winded by the force of the blow. His blindfold is snatched from his eyes, and he blinks, squinting into the foreign light over shadowed by the strikingly tall figure of a man before him.

Manson looks more than terrifying when Trent finally makes him out in the dim light and is awestruck by this imposing creature dressed all in black. He wears a pinstriped black suit and tall, heavy-looking platforms, large enough to possibly crush Trent’s entire face with just one step. His dark makeup is probably the main thing that makes him so intimidating to Trent, caked on black lipstick and eyelids swathed in eyeliner and eyeshadow. He looks alien, threatening. Trent feels a jolt of adrenaline surge through him.

“What do you want with me?” he asks, a hint of defiance in his voice and the man above him hears it instantly. Before he knows it, he gets hit again, harder this time, which he’s certain will leave a nice red welt.

“I want to hear you beg, you little shit.” Manson has him by the chin, grip hard as steel and one boot up and nudged in between Trent’s thighs, dangerously close to his crotch. All he has to do is take a step and crush. “And you’re going to answer to my every command. Even if you don’t cooperate, I have ways of making you do what I say.”

Trent instinctively glares up at him, but Manson only grins, a wild smile, the stuff of nightmares and drones on low and deep. “Insubordinate, are we? I will change that.” Before Trent thinks he is all talk, his captor is already behind him, one hand over his mouth and the other with thumb and forefinger pinching his nose shut, restricting any air flow.

Immediately, Trent struggles, tugging on the ropes and twisting his head from side to side, eyes squeezed shut. He hears laughter from above him and Manson’s voice breaks through. “You’ll wear yourself out doing that, you know. I can do this all day.” A strained whimper comes out, muffled and Manson looks down curiously before asking, “Are you going to be a good boy?” Oh, shit.

Oh, _shit_.

Trent whimpers again in response, more desperate this time, and he carelessly lets go, enjoying the heaving sounds of Trent’s labored breaths. He glances up with the most helpless, pitiful expression on his face, and it seems to have begun.

“Just let me go and I’ll forget all of this,” he begs. “I swear.”

“Wrong answer, sweetheart,” Manson snaps, giving him a sharp slap in warning. “Or have you already forgotten what I said? Let’s see if I can wake up that memory of yours.” Another smack and Trent’s cheeks are stinging. “I don’t have all day. And you’re already trying my patience.”

After two or three blows that seem to get harder and harder with each hit, Trent’s defiance returns and he dares to spit at him, missing embarrassingly and looking up quickly, waiting with his heart thudding for his next punishment. Manson looks down once, head cocked, and then slowly, wordlessly raises it to offer a sickeningly sweet smile his way. Like a viper, his hand shoots out to wrap around Trent’s throat and begins to squeeze. Involuntarily, Trent’s mouth opens like a fish, and his lower half bucks up in a struggle, a frantic fight for air.

“You’re awfully cute when you fight back,” Manson hums, squeezing just a little harder.

And just like that, out of nowhere, Trent’s eyes lid over and an unmistakable moan escapes, long, low, _whorish_. Manson hears it, and a grin breaks out over his face as he stares down at that pleading face, desperate for him now. His demeanor changes instantaneously from threat to curiosity, and the hand that holds Trent’s throat holds fast and firm, easing up just a bit, thumb stroking smooth trembling flesh. Trent’s mouth is still open, lips wet and parted, searching for air, but his pretty green eyes are lustful, begging up at his captor.

“Does this…” Manson starts in a snake-like voice, “turn you on?”

Trent whines pathetically until he lets him go and watches carefully while he saunters around to that front to face him. Trent looks utterly debauched, the skin of his cheeks red from Manson’s blows, red from lust and need; lips raw, wet, face flushed, hair wild and mussed. A pretty sight, Manson decides, crossing his arms and starting to think aloud. Trent watches closely, and his chest heaves, up and down, up and down. It’s mesmerizing.

“Perhaps I’ll use that to my advantage.”

A wordless plea escapes Trent’s lips, and he gazes imploringly up at Manson.

“Please…”

The ‘please’ is quiet, docile, absolutely fucking submissive, and Manson stops just for a brief moment to savor how he begins to beg.

“Are you hard right now?” Trent automatically closes his legs in attempts to hide the obvious bulge in his pants, reddening significantly, and it pleases Manson to see how ashamed he is of himself. And yet, he can visibly see him growing larger, straining helplessly and hopelessly against his jeans. Trent bites his lip and moans softly, and Manson almost loses it. That wicked grin returns. “You _are_ , aren’t you? Get those legs open. Let me see you.”

Briefly, Trent hesitates until he feels the toe of Manson’s boot tapping his calf, nudging his legs apart again. Manson does not waste any time and makes his way in between, towering over Trent’s small frame and getting his boot right up against his crotch. The gesture alone makes Trent jump, mouth dropping open to protest until Manson starts rubbing his clothed length with it. A broken moan erupts from his wet, parted lips, something like a growl almost, and Manson matches his enthusiasm with a gentle yet taunting coo of praise.

“Probably leaking all over your underwear, aren’t you?” Without a warning, Manson applies pressure and friction with the soul of his boot, and Trent bites down _hard_ on his lower lip, trying and failing miserably to suppress the unmistakable whine, before his mouth falls open wordlessly again. Manson watches through lidded eyes clouded over in lust as his eyes roll back with each up and down motion his platform boot offers his cock.

“All I have to do is kick the shit out of you _right here_ and you would come on the spot,” Manson growls, “wouldn’t you, you little slut?” When he doesn’t answer, Manson makes the point of pressing down gradually with no intention of stopping until he receives an answer. Finally Trent nods quickly and says with desperation in his voice, “Yes, Mr. Manson.” His captor hums at the sound of his title rolling off his tongue and decides to relieve him just a little by removing his boot. The whimper in protest reaches his ears unexpectedly.

“Now, now,” he clicks his tongue, staring at Trent rutting into the air frantically. “Just what makes you think you’re going to get off.”

“Please.”

If he begs like that, voice so soft and submissive, eyes so wide and compliant, then Manson will make him come not once, not twice, but until he is satisfied with the display. He’ll make him cry, make him beg for him to stop.

“And yet you’re so polite!” Manson breathes, advancing in on him, tugging on the collar of his shirt. “Such a sweet, obedient, little whore who just wants to come. I’d beat you if it would make you come, but I don’t think I want to see this pretty face ruined.” At these words, Manson smoothes Trent’s brow in a somewhat loving way, moving from there to brush over his cheekbone, down to trace over his pretty, plump lips. The gesture alone becomes more lustful, controlling, obscene when Manson shoves that gloved thumb in Trent’s mouth. Trent opens willingly, breath coming out in short gasps and hitches. Manson longs to swallow them down. With that thumb, he begins to fuck his mouth, groaning inwardly when his lips close around his finger, tongue, caressed by his thumb, lightly yet fervently sucking.

He looks like an angel just like this, mouth around his finger, eyes closed in bliss, but Manson wants more. He removes his thumb, landing another sharp slap across Trent’s face. He blinks once but does not visibly flinch. Manson notices how used to it he is and seems to swell with pride, but rather than show it, he instead kneels down before him, a rather unorthodox position for him, Trent thinks. Taking the collar of his shirt in both hands, Manson opens it in one fluid motion, ushering a slight squeak from his sub. He chuckles lowly, eyeing the plain black tee underneath, sees how hard his nipples are, and glances up at Trent.

“Gonna make this hard for me, huh?”

Not so as he notices the small knick at the collar where it should be. Trent flinches this time when he hears the distinct ripping noise that seems to make him even harder. He shudders visibly at the rush of cool air that hits his chest and then looks down at Manson only to find him up on his knees in between his legs, face only inches from his. He’s even more terrifying this close, he thinks and feels a twitch in his cock.

“Scared yet?”

Manson’s tongue runs up the side of Trent’s cheek, hot and wet, and Trent feels his breath stutter out at the foreign sensation, only letting out a short cry as those teeth hungrily sink into the side of his neck. Pleased with the sound of his aroused distress, Manson does it again and then turns to face him, pulling his head back with a fistful of his hair. Even on his knees, he is still much larger than him.

It takes a quick second for Trent to realize that he’s spat in his face.

He blinks once, tries to turn his head to the side, feels it slide down his temple and cheek. The he hears Manson’s voice again.

“Answer the fucking question, whore.”

“I’m terrified,” Trent answers quickly yet softly.

Manson leers, showing teeth, a wild smile. “Good.” The hand in Trent’s hair tightens, yanking his head back even further, forcing him to look into his captor’s eyes. “Open your mouth.” Trent does and makes a noise in the back of his throat as soon as Manson leans down to promptly spit in his mouth. “Swallow.” He obeys, eyelashes fluttering up at him, bewildered.

“You should be scared.” Manson grins, tongue flicking out over his lip ring. “You are mine now, mine to do with however I please.” He shakes his head and laughs. “I’m not going to make this easy for you.” Leaning in close so that his lips brush against Trent’s ear ever so slightly, he murmurs, “So I hope you really enjoy pain.”


	5. Chapter 5

Manson has long fingers, callused but slender, rough yet adequate with painted fingernails that shimmer under the lamplight. Good for stroking and scratching. And fucking. All Trent wants him to do is touch him, hurt him, use him with those hands and fingers. But Manson has other things in mind, things to make him go mad before he’s even been allowed to come.

Trent whines, and Manson chuckles long and low. “Oh, this isn’t enough for you?” he inquires in an oily sadism that sends shivers through his body.

No.

It is not even fucking close.

Trent grits his teeth and dares to glower defiantly at the man lightly stroking _one, single_ finger over just the tip of his cock. His leaking, aching cock. It has been minutes, hours, he over exaggerates in his mind, perhaps just five or ten seconds. Ten _long_ seconds of him rutting his hips in the direction of Manson’s finger while Manson finds it amusing to stop touching him, to make him chase it if he’s that desperate. Yet as amusing as it is to watch Trent fuck the air like the whore that he is in the compromised position of being tied to that chair, Manson cuts his greedy attempt at an orgasm short by back-handing his cock and slamming his palm down against his tummy to hold him down, keep him in place. Trent has no time to react to the pain in that moment of dominance, but a short cry automatically escapes his lips from the throbbing in his dick that mixes with both pleasure and pain.

“Who the fuck said you could come on your own?” Manson’s voice rises just slightly as he gets right up in his face, eyes blazing. Just as soon as he says it, his expression changes to a sickly smile and his voice drips with feigned tenderness. “Relax,” he coos, dragging out the last syllable. “We have just barely started.”

His hand returns to Trent’s cock, wraps around his shaft. It stands upright against his abdomen, smearing pre-come, glistening over his flesh. At the sight of it, Manson leans forward, laps it up clean and hums.

“Sampling the goods.”

Bending down even more, his eyes sneak a glance up at a waiting, wrecked Trent, his mouth open, hovering just inches over the head of his dick. “Is this what you want?” He engulfs the entire length in his mouth in one smooth gesture, full, painted lips sliding down every inch, tongue playing with his balls. A low, guttural groan falls from Trent’s lips instantly, and he leans his head back willing himself to not buck up into his mouth. The way that his hair falls to the side, the way that his eyelids flutter, how his gorgeous chest heaves from the waves of pleasure that well up in the pit of his gut- Manson wants to destroy him.

“Or this?” he asks demeaningly right before sinking his teeth in.

An unexpected move, and Trent yells sharply, twisting and tensing at the shooting pain in his poor cock. When Manson lets go, he does not relent however, and squeezes his fist around his balls tight, restricting blood-flow, and lands a good, hard punch. Trent jumps and cries out again, this time louder but ending in a growl, deliriously aroused and needy, especially when Manson does it again in a series of sharp, quick, “lighter” punches.

“Huh? I don’t think I caught that.” He is taunting him now, eyes flashing, lips curling in a cruel smile.

Trent’s head is back against the seat, eyes lidded, mouth in a grimace as he continues to hit him. A pained moan comes out stuttered, like he is laughing at his torment. He very well is. Euphoria surges through his body as he writhes and continues to moan and groan in that form of desperation that seems to beg Manson to do it again. Before he can stop himself, a debauched smile forms on Trent’s flushed, beautiful face, and he breathes out one small, submissive response.

Manson puts a hand behind his ear, tells him to speak up, and then hits him where it hurts the most again. If he does it one more time, Trent worries he’ll come right then and there.

“Pathetic that this gets you so worked up, isn’t it?” Manson muses, easing up just a bit on his balls. “You’re just a toy now, my little fucktoy, all broken in. You can’t even speak anymore, can you? Just another fuckhole for me to use. Speak up, slut! Is this what you want?”

One last punch and Trent breaks into that blissed out smile again until he feels Manson’s teeth once more. A broken moan escapes between closed lips, and then he finally shudders out a pleasured, “ _Yes_.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Need some help with those?” Brian asked dutifully, approaching a very naked Trent struggling to put on a pair of black latex gloves. He was good on the right hand with it rolled up all the way past his elbow, but seemed to be frustrated with the other.

Trent looked up, smiled as soon as he realized it was him, and then held out his arm. “Leave it to me to fuck up putting on a pair of gloves.” He laughed lightly, sweet for his nasally voice.

Brian shrugged. “Latex is tricky.” Then he smiled, mostly to himself, but found he spoke aloud. “Quite the little actor, aren’t you?”

Trent flexed and clenched his fingers once the deed was done and then looked gratefully at Brian. “I took some theater classes in grade school.”

It was Brian’s turn to laugh. “Really? That’s interesting.” _And adorable._ After he sobered quickly, Brian could not help but catch himself glancing down at Trent’s naked cock, hoping that he had not hurt him too bad. As if Trent somehow could read minds, he looked down with him and chuckled.

“I know what you’re thinking and you don’t need to worry,” he reassured him. “I’ve got balls of steel and a nine inch nail.” If he could get any redder. Brian watched him giggle awkwardly and avert his eyes, probably mortified that he actually said that. Smiling good-naturedly, Brian suddenly ran a hand through Trent’s hair, ruffling it a little between his fingers.

“You’re so cute,” he murmured before walking off, leaving Trent to wonder if he was starting to grow after that exchange. Teasing subs was fun.


	7. Chapter 7

Manson has created a masterpiece. He surveys it with pride, such a lewd, obscene display before him. His toy trembles and twitches in bondage, dressed in the trappings of a _slut_ with both hands cuffed high above his head, wrapped in latex. Manson’s toy cannot speak; his hole is plugged by a ball gag, and Manson’s toy cannot see, for he has been blindfolded again.

Sensory deprivation is always a favorite for Manson. The presence of fear and heightened arousal because the sub cannot see what he does to them- Manson feels himself get hard thinking about how desperate they get for any touch, for any form of physical contact and whining through their gags because he is tired of their incessant begging. His fucktoy now whimpers through the gag and tugs on the chains, hearing him come closer with heavy, clunking steps from his platforms.

“Hold still,” he says, that deep voice of his droning like gentle thunder, eerily ominous just the same. He reaches to grab him by the chin, hears him suck in a breath with many wet sounds that follow, and notices the copious amount of drool dripping down from his gagged mouth. Manson thumbs some away and smears it across his face, admiring how it glistens on him.

“Do you realize just how obscene you were?” His voice is so low; he’s aware that his submissive is just straining his ears to hear him. “How absolutely pathetic that little display back there was?” Manson shakes his head, clicks his tongue. “Pitiful. Did you really think just by begging you’d get off Scott-free? Did you even assume I’d let you come? You spoiled, fucking whore.” By now, Manson’s fist clenches tightly around his jaw, just so that it starts to hurt, and his toy whimpers. “You’re going to have to really impress me this time. Can you take your punishment like a good boy?”

“Punishment?” Manson gathers that is what Trent babbles sloppily, more spit running down his chin.

Laughing lightly, Manson fists his hand through Trent’s hair, yanks cruelly. “Oh, come now, Trent,” he simpers, mouth close to his ear, softly tonguing and nipping. “You do want to please me, don’t you?” As his hand reaches his already half-hard cock, he sees Trent start to melt. Every stroke along his length, every polish over his head makes his chest heave beautifully, makes him stand on his toes just to get more of that sweet, glorious friction of his dominant’s hand. Manson sees every reaction from the way the corners of his mouth twitch and every intake of breath. He needs this. Every second of it.

Manson slaps him sharply, first across the thighs and then across the face. “Answer me, bitch.” Trent quickly nods but that is not what his dom wants. Grabbing his chin and pulling him in close to him, he laves his tongue up his lips and past the ball gag, making him shudder. “Use your words, sweetheart.” His tone taunts him. “I know you can.”

Trent visibly struggles with forming words around the gag but finally manages to whine out, “Yes, Mr. Manson” however intelligible. Manson promptly spits in his face.

“Good boy.” He leers down at his unsuspecting prey, the corners of his mouth turning up in a cruel grin. “Are you ready for your punishment, slave?”

Trent responds with the same affirmative, and Manson walks away, the heavy clunk of his platforms reminding his sub that he has not left him alone in the room. Fluidly Manson removes his pin-striped jacket, lets it fall to the floor, and then rolls up his sleeves at the elbow. Before him is a table with an array of different types of devices for unruly subs. Perhaps Trent is not what Manson would call an “unruly sub”, but he certainly is slow to obedience and doing exactly what Manson wants.

Picking up both a crop and flogger in both hands, Manson turns and advances back to Trent. “I’m going to make this a little easier for you, slave,” he drones. “Give you a few choices.” With a quick blow from the heavy flogger to Trent’s backside, Manson’s tone turns abrupt, curt. “Pay attention!” Trent straightens as best as he can while tugging on the chains and immediately nods with a pained whimper. “I’m more than certain you felt the first choice,” Manson chuckles, “but in case you missed it, I can always show you again.” He does not wait for a response or reaction and hits him again, harder this time, so much that Trent’s body is thrown forward and he cries out.

“Or how about this one?”

This time, it is the crop, sharp and stinging, like millions of tiny needles pricking into his flesh. A pathetic whimper escapes his compromised lips, one that Manson hears with a slow grin. He taps the crop against the palm of his hand, cocks his head. “Made a decision yet?” Of course, Trent cannot answer, and Manson chuckles lightly. “Or shall I make the decision for you? You seemed quite ecstatic about this little number.” He indicates the flogger, hardly a “little number” and hits him again with it. Trent immediately whines and babbles in protest, so much that Manson’s chuckles darken and he nods, realizing. “The flogger it is then.”

Trent groans, a guttural sound.

“I can’t wait to hear how loud you can scream with that thing in your mouth.”

The first blow comes unexpectedly, without warning and Manson watches Trent visibly bite into the ball gag, so much that he could probably break it. The second hit is much lighter, teasing, and Trent’s muscles, tense and taut, unclench, relax into the touch, waiting, a gentle purr breaking from his lips. Upon hearing it, Manson beats him harder, one, two, three, each one more vicious than the last. The final hit reaches his chest directly, forces a cry out of him, one that Manson relishes.

“Don’t hold back now, slut!” he cries in glee, striking his backside, hitting his ass, back, and thighs. “Let me hear you.”

Trent screams against the gag and the lovely sound ends in a growl which brings Manson to pause and notice just how hard he is. More than hard. More than aroused. Trent’s cock stands upright on its own, nearly spilling pre-come over his belly, glistening over his pale, lovely flesh. Manson’s mouth waters at the sight, and he ceases beating him just to get close to him, feel how hot his body is, the sweat on his neck and chest, feel the way his heart pounds with each passing intake of breath. He’s beautiful, and Manson wants to ruin him entirely, break him.

“Do you know just how beautiful you are this way?” Manson hisses directly in his ear. “How utterly fuckable you look?” He hears Trent’s breath hitch and smirks, licking along the shell of his ear. His free hand finds his cock, stroking slowly and deliberately, enough friction to make Trent groan aloud and whorishly. “Pretty little whore.” Manson murmurs those next three words almost with a certain gentleness, tenderness, and Trent seems to coo in response, leaning against him for support, rutting into his fist with gradual eagerness.

“Want me to remove this so you can speak like an actual human being?”

Trent nods rapidly and as soon as the gag comes off, he starts begging quickly and desperately. “Please, Mr. Manson, please let me come. Let me come for you, please, I need to so bad. Please… fuck!”

The sharp, reprimanding slap to his cock comes faster and unexpected and Manson leans forward, leering at him. “Did I give you permission to open that fucking mouth, you fucking slut?” he growls through grit teeth, fist in his hair, yanking his head back. Trent’s lower lip quivers, eyes squeezed shut, brow furrowed and a strangled noise comes from the back of his throat. Manson would love to taste it. “Answer me.” The order is abrupt, almost threatening, and Trent only shakes his head wildly.

“And now it seems you’re at a loss for words,” Manson spits poisonously. “Use them, whore. I know you can.”

“No, Mr. Manson,” he whimpers, “you didn’t give me permission.” He sounds dejected, a slight pucker of a pout showing in his lower lip.

“ _Good fucking whore_.” With every word, Manson lands blow after blow on Trent’s poor cock with the flogger and Trent continues to cry out and plead, thrashing and writhing with occasional curses.

Manson only relents once he sees a deep blush over Trent’s pale skin, rosy, not necessarily garish over his chest, thighs, back, and ass. The color contrasts beautifully with his natural skin tone, and Manson longs to run his mouth over every inch of it.

Trent knows he’s finished by the familiar clatter of the flogger dropping to the floor, and he breathes out a heavy sigh of relief. “M-Mr. Manson?”

“Yes, whore?”

“Please…”

“Please _what_ , slut?”

Trent’s voice is shaky with need. “Please let me come, sir…”

Manson hums, and Trent almost begins to beg again until he feels long-fingered gloved hands remove the blindfold. Instantly, the former sees lust glaze over his pretty green eyes as he takes him in, and he almost groans inwardly at how filthy and lovely Trent looks staring at him like that, hair in disarray, framing his face beautifully. Whoever is in charge did a good job making him. The prettiest, filthiest creature Manson has ever laid eyes on.

“Mmm… I do like the ‘sir’ in there,” Manson muses. “So polite all of a sudden!” Trent whines. “Now, now, you simpering bitch, I am considering letting you come if you can make yourself do it.” He watches his slave’s shoulders visibly slump at the challenge and chuckles darkly, crossing over to the table with his toys of torturous pleasure.


	8. Chapter 8

“Fuck, that’s it, slut,” Manson murmurs in a low voice that makes Trent tremble. He studies the way his eyes flutter, how his pretty chest rises and falls, how hard his nipples are out in the open. Trent moans shamelessly right when Manson’s mouth envelopes one, gloved hand flicking at the other teasingly. He tastes amazing, Manson reels to himself and closes his eyes in an almost sleepy way, as if he is savoring him, sucking on him like a goddamn vampire. Trent trembles beneath his lips, toes curling, teeth biting his lower lip as if he is trying to draw blood. Occasional moans and whimpers spill from him.

Down below is a hitachi in Manson’s hand pressed against his toy’s rock-hard length and determined to stay there until he is just on the brink of release. And oh, the sounds he’ll make when Manson denies him and keeps denying him. If he does come, Manson ponders, pulling away with a wicked smile, he will never want to come ever again.

Manson’s tongue flicks out at one of Trent’s nipples playfully, ushering out a squeal. “These need a little something, don’t they?” he indicates them with a cunning grin. He bites down on one, earning a ragged cry and a stuttering breath. Trent protests when he walks away until he turns around again with a pleased smirk.

In his hand is a pair of clamps with a chain, black and sleek. He holds them up, swinging them carelessly in front of him. The chain gives a light tinkling sound, and Trent visibly shudders. “Let’s make things a little more interesting, shall we?” Manson inquires cunningly. “Hold still now.”

The pinch is tight and sharp, holding in the most painful way possible. Manson curses softly under his breath at his creation while Trent whines, shifting restlessly to at least try and relieve some of the pain. His cock leaks like a faucet now, just pleading for release or even the slightest relief, and Manson notices, his own mouth watering, knows exactly what Trent wants, what he needs. But Manson knows better than anyone that to deny his toy is far more satisfying than a simple, quick orgasm. And it will feel so good when he will finally say yes.

“You said you needed to come,” Manson murmurs and casually presses the button to the vibrator, the familiar whir and buzz ringing in Trent’s ears, “so try to come. Go on and try and make yourself come.”

He is about two feet away from him, not very far but not close enough, and Trent gives him one bewildered look. It makes Manson laugh low and playfully, turning up the settings to the hitachi. “Go on, you can do it, slut. You know what to do. Jack yourself off like the needy fucking whore that you are.”

“But Mr. Manson…” Trent’s voice wavers, fists curling around the chains that keep holding him back. “I…”

“You’re a smart whore,” Manson muses, “you’ll figure it out.” Trent purses his lips, fucks the air a little with a grunt of dissatisfaction. Manson nods, holding the whirring vibrator out to him, just about a foot away from his aching cock. Just after a few seconds of the wheels turning in his brain, Trent seems to be getting the idea. Sucking in a breath, looking just a bit determined, he takes a few steps forward, eyes on the prize, just a few inches away. When the chains that hold him in place start to hinder his progress, Trent strains his lower back, thrusting forward at an awkward angle, cock just barely brushing against the hitachi before Manson pulls back one fucking inch out of his reach.

Trent whines aloud, realizing regrettably that he will make him work for it. He takes another step, and the game continues. _Right there_ he manages to hold still, keep the toy at the base of his dick, feeling his muscles spasm, overworked over their limit. And as soon as he feels his orgasm bubble in the pit of his gut, his moans get higher, his chest heaving up and down.

“Who said you could come without my permission, whore,” Manson sneers, landing a blow on his cock, ending his orgasm before it even begins.


	9. Chapter 9

Trent sank onto the bed with a sigh while wiping the sweat from his face and body. Someone aided him in taking the other glove off and then ruffled his hair a little so he would look fresh for the next scene. Occasionally his eyes stole a glance towards Brian, and he felt his heart jump once. He exuded a confidence about him that Trent wished he had. John always said he could be so shy. He certainly did not want to make an absolute fool of himself in front of this beautiful man. Even during the scenes, Trent felt incredibly self-conscious, and he was far too socially anxious to ask Brian for tips to advice.

As if Brian knew how he felt, Trent watched him turn, flash him a smile, and then walk over. The tip of his finger lightly touched the tip of Trent’s nose to which he blinked and blushed automatically. It was a random gesture, sweet and a little comforting, and the touch alone sent tingles running over every inch of his skin. A small smile spread across his face, and he glanced up.

“How are you feeling?” Brian sounded soft, a complete contrast to when he was in character, the demonic sadist known as Manson.

“Feeling amazing,” Trent breathed, matching his smile. “Sore but good.”

“Didn’t hit you too hard, did I?” Brian grinned.

“It’s a good kind of pain.” Trent looked thoughtful for a moment, wondering what else to say to this beautifully intimidating man. Fortunately, Brian beat him to the punch. Maybe it helped that he looked nervous all of a sudden.

Brian wet his lips, eyes wandering a little before he spoke. “So I know this, uh, this is sort of out of the blue,” he began, “but I was wondering if perhaps you would like to grab a bite after this.”

Trent blinked again, processing the question. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” Brian laughed.

Trent smiled easily. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, totally.” Trent shook his head, chuckled. “Should be fun. Let me shower first?”

More giggles erupted from Brian when he nodded. “Kinda taking this date thing backwards, huh? Sex first, then dinner.”

Trent blushed furiously and murmured under his breath, “Who said it had to be backwards?” Brian saw the grin play on his lips.


	10. Chapter 10

Trent opens his eyes and finds himself lying on a bed frogtied by his legs by thick ropes. His arms rest high above his head, bound together securely by ropes braided, laced, looped together in an intimate fashion. They connect to the head board, long enough for him to move around as much as his restricted body will let him, physically compromised to the edge of the bed. Manson stands at the foot of the bed, smirking wickedly, deviously, looking ten thousand times taller and easily more intimidating than normal. He stands over him completely naked, lazily stroking his cock, lust glazed over his wild different colored eyes, and Trent takes him in, marveling over the tattoos of satanic depictions on his arms.

He is big. Huge. Trent eyes his length warily, staring at the drop of pre-come that slides down his shaft already slick with spit or both. He can practically smell him, that scent of musk, hint of cologne, the richness of him that Trent longs to take into his mouth, slide down his throat, choke on until he passes out. In Manson’s other hand is a crop, which he starts tapping lightly against Trent’s thigh, urging him to completely wake up. If he could just hit him a little harder. Trent’s cock twitches.

“Honored to be in your Master’s bed, slave?” he inquires lowly, the hint of a growl in the back of his throat.

Trent immediately nods with a quiet “yes” just as Manson releases his own cock and reaches down to smooth his hand up his toy’s thigh. The abrupt slap on the bare skin of his leg makes Trent jump, blinking up at his dom.

“Yes _what_ , whore?”

“Yes… Mr. Manson.”

“You seem a little unsure of yourself.” Manson goes back to rubbing Trent’s thighs with an occasional hum. “Who do you belong to?”

Trent hesitates before answering, “You, sir… fuck!” It takes him waiting on the fading of the first sting to realize he’s been hit but this time by the crop. All the while Manson’s hand continues to stroke his flesh, gently massaging and caressing in an almost loving way. Trent’s eyes almost roll back at how fucking hypnotic it is, but the blow from the crop against his stomach, dangerously close to his dick, keeps him present and alert, aware of the sharp pain.

“This is how it is going to be, slut,” Manson declares. “I’m going to fuck you. And I will fuck you for as long as I like, even if it means I’ve come already and you haven’t even come yet. While I fuck you, I’m going to beat you. With this.”

 _Slap_.

“Oh, but do not think I don’t want you engaging as well,” Manson sneers. “With every hit, I want you to thank me and remember how you address me. Thank me and fucking beg for another. Understand, slut?”

“Yes, Mr. Manson.”

“Hmph. And every time you miss one, if you cry out and forget to ask, you’ll get three for your insubordination. Tell me you understand all I’ve said to you.”

Trent’s lower lip trembles. “Yes… Mr. Manson.”

“What’s your color, whore?”

“Green, sir.”

Manson almost sounds proud when he says, “Very good.”

He glances down, hungrily eyeing the predicament he has his toy in, tongue flicking out at his lip ring. “Good thing we have you all spread for me, huh?” Slowly the hand that holds his thigh slides down and reaches underneath, finding the quivering hole of his fucktoy’s ass, and he purrs in delight at the feel of it. “I do love the way your greedy hole responds to just one of my fingers, my precious slut. Could just swallow them all inside, couldn’t you?”

Trent nods wildly, breath hitching as he feels him press in slightly, only half an inch.

“Mmm… feels like you’ve prepped yourself well,” Manson remarks. “Is that what you do, you goddamn whore? You like prepping yourself in case some strange man comes and kidnaps you?” Trent whines whorishly when Manson slides one lubed finger inside, already setting a pace of fucking steadily in and out of him. Manson’s finger feels as long as it looks. It crooks and curls, making a “come here” motion with every caress inside of him, and Trent feels the pull of longing to get closer, hindered only by the tug of ropes that keep him confined to the bed.

Manson hums, long and low, again and decides to thrust in deeper, searching his insides earnestly, determined to draw out every moan and whimper and plea from his fucktoy’s lovely lips. He’s successful when he hears the first short cry and looks up to check. Trent’s lips are parted, slick with spit and just a layer of sweat, and his face is turned to the side, buried in his shoulder, eyes screwed shut and brows furrowed. His noises are muffled until Manson pulls out easily and thrusts two slick fingers in this time, muttering and breathing out curses while he works him. At this point, Trent moans aloud, voice higher than normal, higher and needier. His hips buck up and forward as best as he can manage, greedy for the friction Manson’s fingers offer that slight burn. It sends him into a euphoric frenzy, and he tries again to match the motion of Manson’s fingers with his rutting, but his dom stops him, gives him an abrupt slap from the crop with a sharp look that stills him instantaneously.

“Greedy slut,” Manson drones dangerously. “With such a greedy hole.” His voice grows somewhat curious as soon as he says it. “Hold still. Can it take three fingers for me?” He doesn’t wait for a response and Trent whines at the stretch of feeling another finger prod its way in.

He feels nearly full, purring at the pleasurable sensation so close to the spot he needs him the most. All he can feel is Manson’s fingers teasing him, working him open from the inside, and the pressure that spills over into his gut. It makes him long to release all over himself until there is nothing left to give.

“Fuck, so warm and tight inside.” Manson’s eyes lid over in lust, and he fucks into him a little harder this time. “Your little hole is perfect, whore. Do you like me using you as a fleshlight for my fucking fingers? Answer me, slave!” Another harsh blow from the crop and Trent nods wildly sounding pained and alert.

“Yes, Mr. Manson. Please use my hole. I love when you use my hole, sir- oh, fuck…”

Manson doesn’t let him finish, just slides his pinky finger inside, stretching him even further, nodding in understanding with a knowing, cunning smile playing on his lips. “Mhmm… very good, slut. This is your purpose now. Just to please me, me and no one else. This isn’t even a service to you. I decide when you come. I decide.” To prove a point, he viciously thrusts those four fingers deeper inside of him and curls them mercilessly. Trent cries out and agrees, begging, babbling nonsensically.

“Seems like I’ve struck a cord.” Manson does it again, pressing harder this time, and Trent jolts at the glorious sensation of Manson’s fingers brushing against that one spot that makes him cry out, makes him harder, makes it harder for him to hold back, so, so much harder.

“Oh?” Manson simpers, listening to Trent’s moans and pleas, like sweet music to his ears. He grins, his fingers never faltering. “Yeah?” Trent nods wordlessly, eyes squeezed shut, teeth biting down on his lower lip. “Could just come like this, untouched, huh?” Manson pulls out only a few inches, stroking the rim of Trent’s ass with his thumb, and then slams back in just as eagerly as before.

“Yes- fuck! Yes, sir. Please let me come, sir, please, please, please-”

He sounds desperate, on the edge, and ready to release; all it takes is a few more thrusts, a few more strokes of Manson’s fingers, his dom realizes, so he sends the crop back down on Trent’s thigh three times in a row and withdraws his fingers altogether, ending Trent’s begging in a loud, needy curse.

“Can’t come yet, whore.”


	11. Chapter 11

“I’m going to fuck you now, slut,” Manson declares, stroking his cock with an easy smile and dark yet glittering, wild-looking eyes staring down at his prey. Trent squirms beneath his gaze.

The first push inside is slow, gradual, but deliberate, and Trent’s moans increase in volume, spurred on by Manson’s curses and obscene encouragement under his breath. He feels the head of his master’s cock go in first, slick with lube, enough to go in easily but Trent still gasps and whines Manson’s honorific at the fresh burn that comes afterwards, washing over his body in blissful pain. He has to remind himself that Manson is much larger; if this is just his head, Trent knows he will certainly feel this for days.

Manson slides in another inch and then another and another until he is perfectly hilted inside of him. Feeling filled to the brim, Trent lets his head fall back against the mattress with a defeated thump, uselessly tugging at the ropes that keep his wrists together. His chest rises and falls, overexerted. Manson pauses briefly just to listen to the small breaths that fall from his lips. He’s beautiful. Beautiful with Manson’s cock up his ass.

“Open those eyes,” Manson orders. “Look at me.” Trent obeys, watchful of him with those lovely green eyes. “Didn’t forget about your punishment, did you?” Pursing his lips together and trembling, Trent shakes his head and eyes the crop, mentally preparing himself for more fresh, stinging blows. He loves the pain as overwhelming as Manson makes it out to be, but he is determined to accept the challenge and take his punishment like a good whore for his dom. Slowly, his eyes rest on Manson, who sees the pure longing in his face and almost comes right then and there deep inside him.

“Ass up,” he demands with a low growl. “Seems like you want something, slave?” He reaches for the crop, taps it against his free hand and pulls out only slightly. Manson sucks in a short breath as Trent does as he’s commanded, giving him a little show with his cock still halfway in his ass. Then he waits, leering down at him. “Please, sir…” Trent stammers, “may I have another?” Manson sneers.

“Hmph,” he snorts, clutching the crop and sliding his free hand up his thigh almost soothingly, “as you asked so politely, slut.”

_Crack._

_Crack._

_Crack._

One. Two. Three. Done in a row without hesitation. It leaves a stinging painful aftermath, and Manson’s toy is almost certain his ass is blushing red already. His dom admires the marks he has made with a soft, appreciative hum and then stares hard at Trent, making no effort fucking back into him. Trent squeaks, face red.

“What do you say?” Manson’s voice is like ice.

“Thank you, sir,” Trent blurts out as quickly as he realizes but not quick enough to save himself. “P-please, may I have another?”

Manson’s grin is devious, and he lazily starts thrusting in and out of him, shallow thrusts, still enough to leave Trent feeling full. “Appears you want three more.” They come before Trent can protest, two across his chest and one at his thigh. The last hit leaves Trent trembling. Doesn’t hinder his speech and train of thought though.

“Thank you,” he whines. “Please, sir, may I have another.” It continues on like this for the next five minutes, what seems like five hours however much to Trent’s physical and mental exertion. Every time he misses thanking his master, misses just a single beat, Manson resorts to his mercilessness. Blow after blow come down hard and sharp and lasting everywhere on Trent’s body, on his chest, thighs, calves, tummy, and cock even. And with every mistake, Trent’s cries grow louder until reverting to growls, moans, and whimpers every time Manson’s thick pulsating cock nudges his sweet spot deliciously. Just an endless cycle. Beating and fucking him until it is perfect every time.

For a moment though, Manson notices the glazed, far off look in Trent’s eyes after he receives his last three hits for missing his cue for the thousandth time. Manson swears he’ll say it, yellow or red, whichever the two, and the scene will come to a halt, and _Brian_ will feel like such a fucking jackass for not noticing the warning signs earlier.

He is surprised when Trent removes his head from the crook of his arm, faces his dom, and wets his lips to speak. “Thank you, Mr. Manson. Please, may I have another…?” His voice shakes with each breath, but he stares at Manson with such feral, carnal need, that Manson feels pride swell within him.

He can almost hear the sigh of relief out of Trent when he places the crop on the floor and continues a steady, shallow thrusting that makes Trent’s eyelids flutter. “I think my precious fucking whore has had enough,” Manson purrs, running his hands up and down both of Trent’s thighs. “What’s your color?”

Trent smiles blissfully. “Green.” Back to green.

“Good boy,” Manson coos and rolls his hips slightly into Trent. His toy mewls, droplets of sweat sliding down from his temples to gather at the hollow of his throat. It tempts Manson to lean forward, pressing Trent further into the mattress beneath the weight of his body, and lap it up, tasting his sweetness, like honey. Trent cranes his neck, gives him better access, and moans softly as the head of his cock brushes against that spot ever so slightly. His moans deepen and then shorten to cries every time Manson roughly fucks into him.

Manson’s face is flushed as he finally asserts himself to get on the bed, both of Trent’s thighs in his steely grip, certain to leave dark bruises. He gets on his knees, still much taller than him by a longshot, towering over him, and pulls Trent’s bound, lower half up at an angle, still earnestly fucking him as he does so. Trent feels the pull at his lower back and then gasps at the quick change in position, notably the change of his dom’s cock jabbing harder and harder head on at his prostate. Picking Trent up by the hips is nothing; he is weightless to Manson, just like a doll meant to be played with, manhandled, and how easily he slides right back into his hole reminds Manson of smooth, hot oil, perfect, so, so fucking good. He curses under his breath and sets a steady, rough pace again, skin slapping against sweat-soaked skin. Trent’s upper half is limp while Manson takes him, arms wrapped around his waist, cock slamming into him over and over again. Like every thrust, he cries out in rhythm, increasing in volume and pitch and encouraged by a very satisfied Manson.

“Seems like you really are my little fleshlight,” Manson muses, marveling at how well Trent had been able to keep himself from coming.

He comes all over Trent’s face in a matter of seconds, cursing and groaning as ropes and ropes of cum release, splashing Trent’s cheek, chest, tummy, forehead, and lips. He does not even have to order to clean himself up. As soon as Trent feels it, his tongue flicks out to taste him, and Manson groans inwardly, tempted to kiss him and taste himself on his tongue. He does so, a sloppy kiss, wet, tongue slipping into Trent’s mouth and exploring his insides. Sweet as honey. Trent melts into the kiss, the only gentle thing his dom has done to him at this point.

“Now,” Manson thinks aloud, Trent’s frogtied lower half resting in his lap, cock lying erect against his abdomen, “I think someone needs to come, don’t they?”

Trent nods, whimpering like a puppy, writhing and rutting like a bitch in heat, and squeals when Manson grabs ahold of his cock and starts pumping up and down. His gestures are slow, tantalizing, and Trent stiffens on the brink of release but knowing he cannot come yet. Manson coos down at him with obscene praises, soothes him with his free hand which rests gently against his throat, thumbing away sweat and cum. That hand travels down towards his ass, still raw and open and sore and circles once, playfully yet soothingly, and Trent bites down hard on his lower lip, suppressing a loud, whorish moan.

Manson’s fingers slide in just as easily as he had pulled out, and the gasp he hears pleases him in turn, telling him urgently that this is exactly what his whore needs. Trent, looking utterly wrecked and like a used doll, covered in cum and spit and sweat, throws back his head dramatically, hands becoming fists, knuckles white and shaking as Manson’s two fingers successfully brush against and continue to brush against that spot, the one that makes him see stars behind a veil of white, blinding him in pleasure and bliss.

“R-right there…” he breathes, face buried in the crook of his shoulder. Manson hums in satisfaction, pulls out slowly before plunging back in and draws out a sharp, high-pitched whine from his toy. “More…”

“Careful now, slut,” Manson snaps, brow raised as he continues fucking into him, “there are consequences with greed like this.”

“Please…”

Trent looks like he is about to cry, like he’s been slapped in the face again, whimpering restlessly, eyes, begging Manson as he jabs into him again to just fucking let him come. All the while, Manson’s praises continue to come instead, finally telling him what a good, good slut he is for holding this long, perhaps he’ll reward him with ten instead of coming.

“Wouldn’t you like to be all marked up for your Master?”

Trent’s voice is docile and far away as he replies compliantly, “I like anything you give me, sir.”

It is as if his cock can hear it too, and Manson speeds up his hands and fingers, mouth turned up proudly but with a hint of deviousness. “Then I think my precious whore deserves to come, don’t you?” Trent nods wildly.

He’s never seen anything like it. Trent is filthy, absolutely obscene and hardly one to keep his voice down when his hands work him skillfully to release. Manson watches in awe as his stomach retracts at the sheer pleasure directed there, as his chest heaves up and down with every gasping breath, every moan, every cry of euphoria, of ecstasy. His eyes squeeze shut as he writhes and twitches under Manson’s hands and his beautiful lips open slack when he finally does come.

Manson gasps at the sight and then moans with him, loving the intense sensation of Trent’s hot spunk spilling out over his hands, of Trent’s eyes going wide as wave upon wave of ecstasy surges through him. He shudders once and twitches in his high, relaxing himself into the sheets.

It’s cute how he assumes Manson will stop.

But he doesn’t relent with a cruel smile and chuckle as Trent realizes. His thumb polishes the head, and Trent thrashes with a whimpering curse or a few. His eyes beg him to stop, his lips start to mouth it, but the only sound that comes out is a strangled, pained groan.

“You’ll take what I give you,” Manson growls and his hand slams down on his tummy to hold him still while his other works and pumps at his sore and abused cock. “Because it pleases me to see you like this. To see you in pain. To hear you beg. It reminds you who is in control. Oh? No more? Just a minute ago you were begging me for more like the little fucking slut that you are.” Manson’s grin widens. Trent appears practically close to tears.

“Perhaps if you can tell me just what you are, maybe I’ll show mercy.” Impatiently, Manson speeds up his hand ushering a squeak from his fucktoy all worn and spent. “Go on. What are you?”

Trent is red in the face, sweat pouring from his temples when he finally yells, “I’m a slut!”

“And who do you belong to?”

“You, Mr. Manson!” he stammers. “I’m your slut!”

“Good fucking whore.” Manson releases Trent’s cock with a harsh slap and carelessly rises to his feet.


	12. Chapter 12

Trent rested his head against Brian’s shoulder during the debriefing interview just listening to the lulling drone of his deep, rich voice. So many thoughts and emotions ran through his head while he answered questions and listened to Brian speak. His arm was casually wrapped around Trent’s waist, a sweet gesture, protective, and Trent found himself pulled in closer to the warmth of his side and felt a sweet sense of comfort. It had been the best example of dominance he had ever experienced, an experience that left him reeling, left his head spinning in euphoria. At times, he worried he grinned and giggled like an idiot during the interview, but the protective hand squeezed his waist, and Brian glanced down and flashed him a time-stopping smile of reassurance.

Would he ever want to do something like that again? With Brian?  
It didn’t take long for Trent to collect his thoughts in order to give an answer. He felt the heat rush to his face and almost wanted to bury his face in the crook of Brian’s shoulder. It seemed so nice to finally meet someone whose chemistry spoke volumes to his own. And that person wanted to take him to dinner tonight. It certainly wasn’t a typical occurrence for those in the porn industry, far from it considering it was just a job, but Trent felt that connection and wanted to pursue it.

He glanced from the interviewer for the debriefing and then lingered on Brian who grinned back at him before returning to face the camera. “Yes and yes,” he beamed.

Brian had never met someone as interesting as Trent before in his life. It was intoxicating, and it certainly did not help that he was incredibly beautiful. Beautiful in the strangest way imaginable. The way he felt searching inside, the way his beautiful, tiny body reacted to his touch, even to the way he smiled every time he heard his voice. There was no doubt about it; Trent was sub material through and through, and Brian longed to unlock everything, every secret about him. One thing was for certain; Brian wanted to make him purr, just like that, once more.

John was different. He _loved_ John. As sweet and submissive as he was for Brian, he was nowhere near as masochistic as Trent. While he deserved every single orgasm until he was shooting blanks in tears, Trent deserved to be denied until he was sobbing, begging for it.

With John, Brian had that polyamorous agreement and understanding; John would always be Brian’s and vice versa but each knew that sometimes they needed more in the relationship. While John longed for another pup to play with, Brian needed a sub with a high threshold for pain, someone who could take what he had to offer, within reason of course. This did not mean that John couldn’t do just that. He just wasn’t a glutton for pain. Humiliation, sure. And at first Brian assumed Trent would be the same way but he was resilient. With every hit he gave him, Trent fucking thanked him like he fed him the drink of the gods. That caused something to stir within Brian. As he sat and gazed at his sub now, that something stirred inside him again.

“Oh most definitely,” Brian grinned while Trent blushed. “I want to do it again.”


	13. Chapter 13

During the aftermath, Brian wished he could shower with Trent.

He emerged moments later, hair still fairly damp but fresh and clean and grinning from ear to ear. Cutie. Fucking cutie. “Where are you taking me, sir?” Brian practically reeled. Must have taken Trent five whole minutes to come up with that one.

“Oh don’t do _that_ ,” Brian sighed, begging softly with a slight smile, and pulled him in close to his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Come on. I think you’ll like it.”

The bar was actually nice and quiet for a change despite their worries of looking too posh for a place like that. Brian ordered the drinks and Trent let him like a good date should, and they sat at the bar. Brian’s eyes glossed over Trent’s way, and he admired how those green eyes shown amidst the array of Jack, bourbon, and beer. They sparkled and Brian found himself longing to kiss his eyelashes. He spoke instead.

“So really, tell me.” Trent finally glanced his way, eyes large and wondering. “What actually got you into this sort of thing?”

Trent paused, looked like he was thinking long and hard for a moment and then wet his lips to speak. “I suppose it was something I knew could get me money. I was working as a janitor for, can you believe it, a local record company and times were tough.” He chuckled almost ruefully. “When you’re an aspiring musician not everyone is interested in your shit. Makes you lose faith in yourself. Can’t say I gave up on that dream, just moved onto something else.”

Brian listened intently. From what he gathered, porn, as it was with him sometimes, hadn’t been kind to Trent from the beginning. He’d been cheated, swindled, used, and it took him a little over a year to finally get on his feet. Times were tough, Brian could not deny that, but Trent kept a smile o his face through everything he mentioned and Brian admired him even more for it. Once Trent paused for breath, Brian leaned in close, smiled, and murmured, “Would you consider playing for me?”

Trent blinked once, softly playing the question back in his mind and then finally answered a little more timidly, “I don’t know. I’ve never really played for just one person so intimately before. Kind of puts me on the spot.”

Squeezing his hand reassuringly, Brian said, “Think about it. I’d love to hear you play.”

Trent seemed to relax at that as if his very touch and voice soothed him back to the present. Eventually he nodded, sort of smiled, and then took another sip of his beer. Sometimes they found more things to talk about and other times the silence filled the empty spaces more often than not. It was a calming silence, hardly anything uncomfortable about it and Brian found it gave him ample time to admire Trent’s lovely features some more. Such refinement, especially in that elegant nose of his. Brian loved the way it curved downward, loved how long and even it was.

He was not exactly entirely inebriated, but at this point there was nothing stopping him from reaching forward and taking two fingers to trace the front of Trent’s nose, gently, ever so slightly, from the bridge all the way down to the soft bulge at the tip. Brian felt Trent instantly stiffen but then relax the very second after. He eyed him to the side, allowing him to touch him like this and waited for Brian’s next move. The gesture itself was so uncharacteristically intimate that even Brian found it hard to believe that Trent would cup his chin in one hand, lean forward, and sweetly press his lips to his.

The kiss was soft, pleasing to the touch; Trent’s lips molded perfectly with Brian’s. There was a certain tenderness quite unlike the kiss they shared during their scene together yet with a certain longing, a certain desire, a need to please. Brian sighed into the kiss, tasted the honey on Trent’s breath, the beer on his lips. Delicious. When they broke away, Trent’s face was flushed, rosy pink, and his lips were wet, glistening in the dim light. It made Brian long to kiss him again.

“Do you have anywhere you need to be?” There was a faint growl in the back of Brian’s throat, domineering once again. When Trent didn’t answer, Brian simply grabbed his hand, paid the bill, and murmured, “Come on.” Trent couldn’t really say no to that.


	14. Chapter 14

Before they called a cab, Brian kissed Trent again, even softer than the last, and Trent felt the heat rush to his face despite the cold, dry air. It had begun to snow, and a snowflake landed ever so gently on the tip of Trent’s nose. With something of a smile, Brian brushed it away with his thumb and escorted Trent into the car.

By the time they returned to the hotel Brian was staying at, Trent was already locked to him like super glue, grabbing him by the thick collar of his overcoat, and kissing him passionately, vigorously in the elevator. It was so slow, he whined between kisses and Brian persuaded him with fists in his hair that it just made it more fun. Trent returned to kissing him, mouthing at his lower lip and down to his throat, ushering out occasional purrs and desperate whines that made Brian reel at the sounds he made. Brian’s room was warm once they stumbled inside, and there Trent got on his knees and gave Brian the best blowjob of his life. He swallowed, stood up, and guided him to the bed, his coy grin being the last thing, the last clear thing that Brian saw in the dark.


	15. Chapter 15

When Brian woke up, Trent was still there, and he remembered the series of events that occurred on one of the most amazing days of his life. He focused on Trent’s back; he was turned away from him, still dreaming probably and breathing soft and evenly. Even in sleep, he was positively adorable. Brian smiled at the curve of his spine and the graceful wave that formed a dip between his hip and side. He even noticed the freckles that spilled out over his lower back and shoulders. Trent looked practically _delectable_.

Feeling a little daring and maybe just a little aroused, Brian rolled onto his side and slid closer behind him. When he wrapped his arms around him, he felt Trent stir against him.

“Thank you for staying,” Brian murmured sweetly against his neck, peppering it with kisses.

“Mmm…”

“Didn’t really expect you to, but…” Brian paused between kisses, breathing in Trent’s scent deeply and groaning inwardly. “I’m really, _really_ glad you did.”

Trent chuckled and then let out a small moan once he felt teeth graze over his throat. “Seems like you want to reward me or something.”

Brian shifted positions, and Trent rolled onto his back with a grin, placing his hands behind his head. He looked very sure of himself, and Brian began to wonder if this was the “brat”, self-proclaimed, that Trent mentioned yesterday. A chuckle erupted from Brian’s lips as well, hovering over Trent’s lithe frame and taking him in with heated eyes.

“Perhaps,” he said in a dangerously soft voice. A thumb brushed over Trent’s nipple, and Brian’s mouth enveloped the other. Trent softly keened, hands going to the headboard instead. He arched his back when the terrifyingly beautiful man above him shamelessly continued, making sloppy sucking noises as he went. Trent bit his lower lip when he felt his teeth sink into one and tongue laving teasingly over the other. His lips mouthed the word ‘more’, and his breath started sounding shallow and feverish.

“Someone’s sensitive, hmm?”

Trent’s voice rose to a higher pitch when he let out something that sounded like “Mhmm!” and Brian very nearly lost it. Then he noticed how hard he was already.

“God, I want to _fucking_ eat you,” Brian growled, pointedly avoiding Trent’s cock just to distress him further. “Turn over.”

Trent obeyed, and he helped him get on his stomach, soothingly running his finger down his spine, making him shiver. Brian watched his back muscles tense and flex mesmerized and automatically leaned forward to kiss him between his shoulder blades. At this point now, Trent was more than a little aroused; he shook and trembled, anticipating Brian’s next move and instantly squeaked at finding firm hands gripping his hips. Those hands yanked his lower half up in the air, and parted his cheeks. Trent gasped and buried his face in his pillow to hide his moans. A playful slap at his thigh told him no.

“Uh uh,” Brian said in a sing-song voice. “Let me hear you whine with my tongue up your ass.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew h- unh…”

Just the tip of his tongue was all it took to reduce Trent to a moaning, melting mess. As soon as he felt that wet warmth encircle his rim, Trent cursed with a ragged breath and collapsed back against the pillow.


	16. Chapter 16

All good things seem to have an ending, Brian thought, scrolling through his contacts and landing on Trent’s number. He had not been entirely certain that this was a one time thing only, but something else inside of him aside from the disappointment screamed at him to hit “call”. It had been a month exactly, and achingly long so much that he started missing him ardently. He couldn’t forget a man like Trent even if he wanted to.

“Hey.”

Goosebumps fanned out over Brian’s flesh as soon as he heard that sweet as honey, rough as vinegar, nasally voice. Took him a full five seconds to respond at least coherently.

“Hey,” Brian swallowed, “you in the area?” It would be a fucking miracle if he was. He held his breath. That sweet voice spoke again finally, softly in his ear.

“Yeah, I’ve got a show tonight.”

Brian paused long enough for that musical laugh to break through the receiver. “It’s a gig, not porn. I’m singing tonight.”

Perking up at that, Brian immediately asked, “Where? I’ll be there.”

There it was again. He just found him so amusing, didn’t he? Brian listened intently for the information and smiled softly to himself. It was so pleasant to finally hear his voice again after all this time, and very soon he would see that lovely face, congratulate him with maybe a kiss or two. Or a blowjob. Or both.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Trent had warned him. “It’s not really for the faint of heart.”

Brian snickered to himself as he opened the door once the bouncer allowed him in. He was a dominant. He doubted if inflicting pain on subs didn’t make him even the tiniest bit squeamish that this would be anything more to shock him.

The lights were dim, the entire room packed with warm bodies loaded with beer and weed. The smell itself did not bother him but Brian soon found himself feeling rather claustrophobic in this setting of a faux underground garage. There were smoke machines and strobe lights, and the band was already playing a strangely heavy and somewhat erotic riff, but Brian didn’t see Trent. He scanned the stage for him; he was the only thing he really wanted to see. When he felt anxious with anticipation after five minutes, the music shifted, quickened the pace, and there was Trent, racing up to the mic and screaming something incoherent over the increasing roar of the crowd.

Brian blinked in the sight and sucked in a breath. If he thought this mysterious man was sexy then, he was more so now. The man looked like a feral, wild animal with such a carnal, sexual energy that Brian couldn’t begin to describe. His hair was mussed and shaggy and he wore tight leather gloves that gripped the microphone like he was gripping Brian’s cock. He wore a fraying shirt with the Skinny Puppy logo and the sleeves ripped off. It was much too big for him but in a way, that was what made it perfect. He looked smaller, angrier, brattier and Brian longed to take him right then and there, in front of the whole crowd. He felt possessive; he wanted everyone in here to know that this dirty slut was his.

A moan erupted from the stage. The strobe lights went wild, but Brian snapped back to this crazy, perfect reality and zeroed in on him in the darkness. Trent was on his back, microphone in hand, legs and arms flailing as if in euphoria, broken moans and screams and distorted lyrics of pain, sex, and sweat falling from his lovely lips. Then Brian saw where his other hand was, right between his legs, and the audience screamed.

The heat was getting to him; either that or Brian was far too aroused to think straight, and he was too focused on the idea that Trent could very likely have a boner on stage. That thought alone kept him from passing out in the throng of the crowd. In the chaos, Brian looked up once, to Trent staring right at him. The heat was not only all around, but it had settled in those lovely green eyes. The forest within them was on fire, and then Trent looked away with a grin.

Grinning back, Brian received the unspoken message.

“Greedy brat,” he murmured in the mob, drowned out by their boisterous noise.


	17. Chapter 17

“Fuck, you were so incredibly sexy up there.” Brian sank even lower than the last time with a pleasured hum, relishing the sweet sounds of Trent keening in ecstasy. He stayed there for a bit, making Trent’s thighs shake unbearably so, and then released him with a wet pop. “My filthy rockstar.”

Trent cursed and in Brian’s peripheral vision, he saw him bite into his gloved fist, eyes shut tight. “Please, Brian,” he whimpered. “Let me shower at least. I probably smell like a garbage disposal.” He quivered at Brian’s tongue laving up his pulsing shaft.

“I like the way you smell,” Brian remarked defensively. “And no one can make you sweat as much as I can.” Trent whined, softly resting his head back against the wall, eyebrows furrowed.

“You’re just so fucking beautiful,” the man at his feet whispered soothingly before going back down and making Trent choke on air.

He got his way and blew him until he came down his throat, hot and fresh and bitter, knees shaking, breath stuttering in his high. And that night, in a shower filled with steam, Brian fingered him to completion for the second time, that hand buried between his legs while Trent’s thigh hooked at his hip, both hands over his head and captured in Brian’s free hand as his chest heaved wildly against his own. Heat radiated between the two of them and just to feel more, Brian pressed his body even closer to Trent’s, trapping him between him and the tiled wall, just for him, just for his own taking. Then he drove him over the edge until he spilled out untouched between the two of them. Brian spent the rest of that pleasured time tasting Trent’s throat while listening to his feverish breaths.

“Here, pass that over.” Trent crooked his fingers at the blunt Brian remained in the process of making. The pounding bass was only slightly dimmed from the speakers and he listened intently while watching Trent light up and inhale deeply.

“What is this?”

Trent puffed out smoke through his nose and some billowed from his mouth as he said, “Aphex Twin. Xtal.”

“What?” Sounded garbled.

Trent waved his hand dismissively, grinned, took another hit, and then passed the blunt to Brian.

“Sounds like I should be in a club. Not my scene.”

“Aphex Twin is more than that,” Trent argued. “He’s innovative. His music is like abstract art. It means something. I like the way he thinks.”

Brian shrugged and decided to let him win for now. He seemed passionate about music more than anything, and it became yet another thing for Brian to admire him. Trent looked content, peaceful when talking about music, his lips enveloping around the blunt gently and sucking in a drag slowly, the corners of his lips curling up easily. It was fucking mesmerizing.

Sliding over on the bed next to him, Brian took a hit, rested his chin on his shoulder, and studied what Trent was busy writing. “What’s on your mind?”

“A song.” Trent’s eyes fluttered a little, and he leaned in closer to the hand rubbing and caressing his back under his shirt. “Keep doing that,” he insisted when Brian stopped. “I like it.” Brian continued.

Humming in satisfaction, Brian silently read the cluster of words and phrases arranged in stanzas.

The lyrics were as feral and carnal as him, driven by lust and blood and pain, three things that evoked the art of sex, something Trent was indeed quite skilled at. If they had teeth, they would bite and leave countless marks. If they had nails, they would scratch, right down Brian’s back. It was blasphemous and wanton and immersive and possessive. Something wicked. It drew him in like a siren.

“So,” Brian wet his lips and cocking a cunning grin, continued in a low droning voice in reference to the song, “you want the devil to fuck you?”

He heard how coy he sounded when he answered.

“He already has.”

“Mmm… and how was it?”

Trent chuckled when he closed the notebook and turned to him. “Went to hell and back and it was fucking amazing.”

Maybe not the cheesiest thing he had said.

Because those lips on his neck were really starting to feel good. Maybe he needed to shut up right the fuck now.

Brian continued to work him easy. One hand slid down his chest while the other casually lifted his shirt up to his chin. Hand splayed at his tummy, Brian’s fingers caressed and stroked tenderly, lovingly, moving gradually further down. Trent’s breathing became shallow, and a soft, whorish moan escaped his parted lips as that hand closed in around the straining weight between his legs.

“Someone’s hard,” Brian mused teasingly and squeezed ever so slightly, ushering a gasp from his sweet sub.

Tightening in his pants by the mere second, Trent turned to face him, cheeks and nose flushed a light pink. He looked earnest as hell, perhaps horny as hell as a more appropriate term. The request came abruptly, like he begged.

“Please let me blow you.” It almost sounded like he was whining.

It didn’t take long for Brian to rest back against the pillows, spread his legs, and let Trent crawl in between them. Cute, he thought, bemused, admiring his ass in the air as his hand gently pushed his head down to the desired place. Trent’s mouth opened willingly, obediently, and he took him in easily, gagging only a little as the head of Brian’s cock hit the back of his throat. Brian moaned loudly when he felt it close and shortly dicked into his mouth. Trent grunted once and then released him with a sloppy, obscene wet sounds. Cheeks reddening deeper and spit coating his lips and just barely dribbling down his chin already, Trent flashed him a grin and went back down avidly.

“I’m good at giving head,” he had told Brian before proudly when his lips wrapped around his cock for the first time. “Don’t need people to tell me so. I just listen to the sounds they make.”

Damn right, he is, Brian thought in affirmation, cursing sharply under his breath. Trent’s tongue flicked out and pleased him again, making shivers run up and down his spine. “Fuck, keep doing that, slut,” he burst out, knowing he would punish Trent for that chuckle later. Brat. He dragged this on longer than it needed to be, that was for certain. Maybe Brian would give him ten just for laughing, an added fifteen for edging him like this when he could be fucking that beautiful mouth good and hard and fast right now. Maybe to punish him further, Brian would make him lie on his back at the side of the bed and do just that. Fuck his mouth. He relished the thought of hearing him whine in protest around his cock, the vibrations of his voice going straight to the edge, getting him closer to release.

The sound of a door slam halted everything. Trent jolted up a stop and pulled off of Brian’s dick frantically. He gave Brian one look, and the latter recognized fear, anxiety, and bewilderment all wrapped up into one expression. His brow was furrowed, and his lips were parted. Trent looked like he wanted to ask Brian a million questions, but he also looked like he wanted to run. While he scrambled off the bed and snatched up his belongings, he heard the playful chuckle and stared hard at the man on the bed.

“Is that your fucking partner?” he hissed, trying and failing to keep his voice down. “Why are you laughing? This isn’t funny, Brian. I gotta go!” Letting out a low, frustrated growl as he shouldered his backpack, Trent continued accusingly, “You never told me someone else lived here.”

Brian laughed outright, which ushered a frightened ‘shush!’ from Trent and shrugged, “He doesn’t.”

“He?!”

Trent sounded incredulous, like it actually was what he feared, confused, and guilty, prepared to book the fuck out of there and most likely never come back. This was it. This was why relationships never worked out for him, because everyone was a goddamn liar. Now he would go home with his tail between his legs and cry on John’s lap. At least John would understand.

A faint voice from down the hallway reached both of their ears, and Trent was ready to hide in the closet and chew Brian out later.

“Brian, I’m home! You around?”

Oddly, the voice sounded pretty damn familiar.

“We’re up here!” Brian called back, eyeing Trent with a grin.

Trent merely shot him a look and hissed, “What the fuck, Brian?”

The footsteps got closer, and Trent knew he could do nothing but stand there and face the consequences of his actions. Face getting screamed out the door or beaten to a bloody pulp by the significant other. And never see Brian again.

The door opened, and Brian moved to turn off the music. The silence made Trent stiffen, and he had never felt more naked than he did now, despite the fact that he was fully clothed. In walked Brian’s partner and someone Trent certainly was not expecting to see. He recognized the mop of blonde hair instantly, jaw dropping, jacket and backpack falling to the floor with a dull thud. Trent blinked once and closed his mouth when Brian spoke.

“Hello, dear.”

“Evening, babe,” John murmured, musing over the current interior of the room. He turned and landed those lovely chocolate eyes on Trent, crossing his arms. To the latter’s slight relief, he smiled.

“Trent.”

“Wait, you know him?” Brian asked.

John shrugged. “Of course. We’re seeing each other.”

An easy smile broke out over Brian’s face. “Huh.” Trent hurriedly glanced from John to Brian and then back and forth again, observing his predicament and more confused now than ever.

“I mean,” he began, searching for the night words carefully, “we are but… I don’t understand. How do you know each other?” John grinned and strode to the side of the bed towards Brian.

“Well, it’s quite simple really,” Brian said, reaching over to wrap his arm possessively around his waist. “John is my boyfriend.” They kissed briefly and Trent reddened, averting his eyes.

“And we have an open relationship,” John chimed in, cocking his head and smiling playfully at Trent, “just like you and I do.”

“Huh.” It was Trent’s turn to say it, but, like Brian, he did not sound upset, and that gave John opportunity to kiss Trent fully and passionately.

“Small world,” he murmured against his lips, and Trent responded eagerly.

“Mmm…” Brian grunted in agreement. “What do you say, Trent?”

It sounded like an offer and gradually the confusion dissipated. Trent looked from John to Brian and then crossed his arms. He grinned.

**Author's Note:**

> Be sure to leave kudos and comments if you liked it!  
> Thanks to those of you have supported me through all of this. You know who you are. <3  
> Edit:  
> Hi there. A lot has happened since I wrote these. One person portrayed in these stories has been outted as an abuser.  
> I do not condone. Please keep that in mind when you read and know that the personality portrayed is not a direct representation of the actual personality.  
> Thank you.


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